Dark Desire
by LaFemmeDarla
Summary: In his dreams, she is only his, beautiful and wild. PrinceBabette, LumiereBabette.


**Title:** Dark Desire.  
**Fandom:** Beauty and the Beast – Movie (Disney)  
**Characters:** Prince, Babette, Lumiere.  
**Prompt:** 33- Too Much.  
**Word Count:** 2865  
**Rating:** R  
**Summary:** In his dreams, she is only his, beautiful and wild.  
**Author's Notes:** Dedicated to the Workshop Gals, who wouldn't stop bugging me until I finished it.

Babette comes to the Prince at night, when the rest of the castle sleeps and his thoughts swim among dark, mysterious dreams. He knows this is not real, that she is not in front of him, wolf grin and silk skin, waiting for his touch. She's dangerous, forbidden, something he should be ashamed of, really. For a Prince should not think of a maid this way. And yet here he is, reaching out and touching her.

She's hot to the touch, almost hot enough enough to burn him. He should know better. But he doesn't care. She's soft and beautiful, and her breasts feel so wonderful under his eager touch, full and delicious. She whispers his name as he enters her - such a crime, for she should address him as "Master" and nothing else, but her voice is oh so rich and filled with desire. The way it should be. For who wouldn't want him?

Her hands reach forward, running over his back and shoulders. And it's like nothing he's ever felt before. While other girls may be sugar, sweet and delicate, Babette is some rare, tasty spice, burning his tongue just by merely thinking of her and the way she makes him feel in his dreams.

Then he awakens and she's gone, her dark fire washed away by the morning sun and his valet's wake up words.

The Prince ignores the book he's supposed to be reading. His eyes move through the words, not bothering to make any sense of them. Fifteen years and no one has truly realized he struggles with written words. He spends this time thinking of his parents, who died loving each other very much but apparently not caring enough about their only child to live for him. But mostly, he thinks a lot of Babette lately, enough to bother knowing her name, when most servants are the same to him, and to see her in his dreams every night.

A Prince like him, with a small yet rich kingdom, should have any girl at his disposal. All girls of lovely beauty and good family. The perfect bride for him. Yet he doesn't think of those girls. He thinks of Babette.

This girl is different.

It is not only her beauty - dark and yet almost sweet, all soft curves and sharp looks - but there's something about her that speaks of hidden delights. Only God knows what kind of life she led before coming to the castle.

It doesn't matter. The Prince is not looking for a bride. He is not sure what he's looking for when he thinks of Babette. But as long as he dreams of her, he will think of nothing else.

Sometimes, the Prince struggles to stay awake, for he fears the images that come in his sleep. He always loses such battles. In those dreams, there is no beautiful woman for him, but a monster, sharp fangs and cruel eyes, bringing darkness to his life. A part of him knows he deserves such darkness, and yet all of him refuses it.

He awakens with a start and covers his face for a minute. The room is silent, no one but himself inside these walls. Yet, he has to believe someone else is sobbing in fear.

One morning after such nightmares, he finds himself in the garden, just avoiding tutors and books and visitors by pretending there's something interesting between the rose bushes and fountains. Lumiere stands out of sight, but close, always protective of the young prince. Sometimes the Prince wishes he could dismiss the older man away with a harsh word and cold look. Most of the time he does. But today, after the nightmares, he doesn't mind the company.

He shudders remembering the nightmares and he'd like to believe it's just from the cold. Winter is close and he's not wearing a coat. Lumiere is suddenly by his side, a deep purple cloak to wrap around the Prince's body. There's something almost paternal about the way his hands rests about the Prince's shoulder. Lumiere may not be aware of what goes through the Prince's mind, but he still knows something is amiss. It should feel comforting, such touch and gentleness, but the Prince hates it.

The Prince shrugs and dismisses Lumiere after the servant fastens the cloak. He walks a few steps away and pretends to stare at a white rose, hand wrapped around the stem to move the flower closer to him. He's so bent on ignoring Lumiere he doesn't notice the thorns digging into his flesh, drawing blood and painting the rose's petals a crimson shade. And anyway, it hurts less than any of the dreams, good or bad. Lumiere notices it, of course, but says nothing. He knows better by now.

Once they're inside, Lumiere cleans his master's wounds. No questions asked.

Babette does her best to avoid her master. It's his eyes that scare her. She remembers that look from men in elegant suits and well-trimmed beards, offering to buy her affection a lifetime ago. On the outside they were gentlemen, but their desires were dark and their intentions cruel. Even if she had been that kind of girl, she would have still rejected their advances. The Prince's eyes are a mirror of those men's. And the boy is only fifteen. She knows she can't put off telling Lumiere any longer. For while he cares for the Prince deeply, he is also one of the few who can control the boy's fierce temper. Most of the time.

That night, in the privacy of his chambers, she whispers her fears. Lumiere listens, nods ocasionally and sighs at the end.

"I will speak to him," he promises and he pulls her close to him. "It will be alright." She wants badly to trust him, but even here she can hear the doubt in his voice.

"But what if..." Her lower lip trembles slightly as she speaks. "He is the Prince. And his word is law. What if he decides..."

"No harm will come to you, ma chérie. Like I said, I will speak to him and make him see reason. He is ..." He hesitates, looking for a kind word to describe the boy. He finds none. "He will listen to me."

He kisses the top of her head and she closes her eyes, grateful for Lumiere. He is a man of his word. Just another reason she loves him so much.

Lumiere doesn't get a chance to speak to the Prince at first. One winter afternoon, Babette is dusting the suits of armor in one dark hallway when she hears footsteps approaching. She doesn't have to turn to know it's him. There's something about the way he moves, wild and haunted, so much like a caged animal sometimes.

He's closer now. She can feel the heat of his hand as he raises it towards her, a gentle intake of breath as he prepares to speak to her. Oh, where is Lumiere? How can she defend herself against such foe?

Then she hears his foosteps, moving away. She turns around just in time to see his shadow, tall and wide and blending with the darkness beyond the hallway.

The Prince knocks over a table as he runs, objects flying in all directions, too blurry in his sight to receive specific names teapot, candlestick, clock. It doesn't matter. He needs to reach the safety of his room, before...

But why is he running? She's just a woman. He is her master. He has every right to her. Then why...?

He locks the door the moment he steps into the West Wing, forehead resting against cool wood as he regains his strenght. He breathes with ragged, breaking sobs, but eventually it stops. The noise is only in his head now.

Why is it so hard? After all, in his dreams, she is only his, beautiful and wild. He leaves bruises on her perfect skin. Watches her twist and shudder as he thrusts into her. She's hot to the touch

_never warm and comforting for him. She's fire that sears his flesh, melting him like wax. And he cannot push her away_

It's with such images of fire, pain and pleasure that one of his hands travels down his body, undoing his breeches. As he brings some pathetic excuse for relief to his aching body, he silently curses his parents

_would he be so broken, so tainted, if at least one of them had been strong enough to live for their only child? _

He curses his people

_a small, rich kingdom in need of a strong leader, not him_

He curses his servants

_Not those with unknown names and faces, but the ones who dare look after the Prince, almost really caring. For their feelings mean nothing to him. _

And he curses Babette

_he was wrong. Her beauty is not fire but ice, sharp and cold and clear as a mirror, showing the prince the monster he has become_

His body fails him and he finds himself on his knees, shaking. He forces himself to stand up and make it to his bed as he considers a severe punishment for Lumiere. It is his duty, after all, to keep the fires up in this room. There's not enough fire and that explains how cold he feels.

Though it doesn't explain the tears.

An hour later, the Prince still lies curled in the bed, long brown hair all over his face, when there's a soft knock in the door and a familiar voice. He closes his eyes and choses to ignore it, but it's hoepless. After a moment, the door opens.

Lumiere steps as quietly as possible into the room. He's not fooled as he approaches the bed. He has practically raised the young prince and he can tell the boy is not really asleep. However, one look at the figure on the bed and he decides to say nothing. Lumiere pulls the covers around the boy and then walks to the fireplace, making a mental note to add a few more logs in an hour. He also does a good job pretending he can't feel a pair of cool blue eyes on his back, watching his every move.

A week passes before Lumiere has a chance to talk to the Prince. The boy sits by a window, once again ignoring his book and staring at the fireplace. Lumiere can't help but notice his hands shake oh so slightly when he finally looks at the book flips through it, possibly looking for an illustration. The Prince then glances around the sitting room, his eyes stopping at a nearby door, and suddenly he frowns, body tensed in sudden alert. Lumiere looks on that direction just in time to see a dark-haired figure in a maid's uniform walking away. He knows he can't postpone the conversation any longer.

"Master," he begins, soft but firm. "We need to talk."

The Prince glances at him for a second before looking at the fire. Lumiere takes a deep breath. Had the boy been his son, would they been having this conversation? A pang of regret courses through him, thinking about everything he's done in a vain attempt to raise their Prince, and yet he's grown unkind, almost cruel.

"You are growing up," Lumiere says. "You are starting to notice women in a different way. And that is good. When both a man and a woman wish to pursue it, it can be wonderful. But if the woman in question does not want it, the man should not... force himself on her. It is not how a gentleman should behave..."

At this point the Prince scoffs softly. "And do you really think I am a gentleman?"

"Yes. You are a gentleman. You are a Prince. We have taught you nothing but..."

"Is this about her?"

Lumiere pauses for only a moment. "Yes, it is about Babette."

The boy flinches at the mention of her name. Lumiere goes on, "Master, I understand..."

"No, you don't," he says, standing up, book falling to the floor. "_I_ understand. You wish me to keep my eyes off your mistress? Fine. There are other women. That one?" And his voice is dangerously low at his last words. "You can have her."

He steps on the book on his way out.

He spares Babette the details, but assures her with a little smile that that Prince won't pursue her anymore.

Babette doesn't tell Lumiere about the time she almost had to face the Master in that hallway. She regrets this decision when she once again finds herself alone with him a few months later.

He sits by a window in the library staring at the gardens outside. Even in winter, when the leaves are gone and there's nothing but a blanket of snow, they're quite a lovely sight. More than once, when cleaning here, Babette allows herself a minute after she's done to admire the view. But today she spares no thought to the gardens. Perhaps she can exit quietly and clean somewhere else until he's gone...

She takes one step back and the Prince turns around, sees her. Her hands move to her chest, fingers clenched around her feather duster, waiting for the demands that are sure to follow. There are none. Instead, he shifts in his chair, moving it closer to the heavy curtains until there's a shadow over him. It finally strikes Babette that he's only here because it is the one place they won't look for him.

Should she go? Should she pretend they haven't seen each other and start doing some dusting? Other maids shall be arriving soon and she wonders what impression will the Prince make on them on such state. And then there's the sad air she saw in the Prince's eyes in that brief moment their eyes met.  
She finally makes one dangerous decision.

She doesn't realize she's holding her breath until she's just a few steps away from him. She forces herself to relax as he moves closer. He's just a boy after all. And he's alone and afraid, no matter how brave he tries to look in front of everyone. She can't help reaching out for him, a kind word on her lips that never makes it out. Suddenly he's up, staring at her with wild, terrible eyes. Before she can react, he's shaking his head, moving _away from her_

"Don't touch me," he says to her. "Never... touch me."

Then he turns around and runs. Babette stares after him, unsure of what has happened.

No one comes to the castle during Christmas. The Prince has cousins in nearby kingdoms, but they've stopped pretending they could be a close, happy family during the holidays. Whatever celebration they might have, the Prince is never invited anymore. It doesn't matter anyway.

After dinner he sits on his favorite chair, staring at the fire in front of him, trying hard not to think of other things that burn. He closes his eyes and rubs his face but he still can see the fire. He finally decides to go to his room. The Prince can't remember the last time he had a good night's sleep. As he leaves the sitting room, he catches his reflection on a nearby mirror. There are dark circles under his eyes and his skin is slightly paler than usual. For one second he sees the monster of his nightmares again and he has to look away. Nonsense. There is nothing disgusting about him. He was blessed with good features his father's lips and nose, his mother's eyes. He just needs to rest.

However, it wouldn't hurt to go to the throne room, take one look at his parents' portrait before heading to bed. Just to see the familiar features once again, beautiful and kind, as if they have no idea what their son has become.

On his way to the throne room he hears voices coming from the foyer. One is familiar, the other isn't. Annoyance and just the tiniest hint of curiosity make him head there. From the corner of his eye, he spies a door opening and a figure stepping in, attracted by the noise as well. He only sees a flash of dark hair, pale skin, black uniform, like any other maid, but he knows it's her.

He can hear her gasp as she sees him, the soft thud of her feet on the carpet as she steps back. This happens in just a few seconds, but enough for the cold to return and the Prince needs to and rest a moment against a pillar. Just enough for his legs to stop tremble and his heartbeat to steady.

No one should ever have the power to make him feel like this.

As he finally pushes Cogsworth aside to face whoever dares to disturb his home, he has made up his mind. He cannot touch Babette for she will burn him, but he will make her pay for doing this to him.

Right after dealing with the intruder.


End file.
